


The Scientist and the Pig Farmer

by Fantrorillaz



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Halloween AU, Junkenstein, M/M, angst toward the end, idk im new to this, slow burn?????????
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 01:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8645347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantrorillaz/pseuds/Fantrorillaz
Summary: My first fanfiction on AO3 and its the roadrat fanfic I wrote a while after the initial halloween update, oh well it's worth a shot. This is basically copy and pasted in so sorry if the format sucks???? For an actual summary it's a sort of prequel to the junkenstein's revenge comic/brawl about Junkenstein meeting his future test subject and life companion "Marco" Rutledge in the extremely vague Victorian/medieval/etc. time period I have woven from what information the halloween update gave so I apologize in advance for flagrant historical inaccuracies.





	

Like any other under appreciated eccentric scientist, a quiet life in a dusty castle slapping together automatons and figuring out where the plague came from left one lonely. On a day in which little tinkering had to be done, Dr. Junkenstein decided he should have a night out on the kingdom. He had seldom gone outside, his pale complexion was proof of this, but he wasn't totally oblivious to the world around him. He had heard that a nearby small village actually had an inn with quite the drinks.

He hunched into the carriage that would take him there, nearly hitting his head on the doorway and then definitely hitting it on his way out when he arrived, damn that involuntary twitch in his neck. As he did saunter into the village, he looked around the less fortunate architecture with wonder. Witnessing more rural living conditions than he was used to.

On his way through, he realized how awkward and suspicious of him it would be if he had gone in alone, being so clearly dignified despite his posture. Deciding a guest would do, he looked around for the finest person that could join him for a pint, as he cocked his head around, there was almost nobody, his eyes only drawing close to a nearby pig farmer.

The man was tall and hefty, a figure that was both full and robust, something one did not often see in the visage of a lowly peasant. He wore a tattered, undersized purple jacket, possibly his most expensive possession, probably the jacket he'd like to be buried in too.

"Oy there!" Crowed Junkenstein, waving toward the peasant who was tending to his livestock, he slowly turned his head toward the Brit, eyes glazed over from a long day's work.

"what is it?" The battlement of a man grunted, his voice rough like an unpolished plank of wood.

He hopped closer to get a better earshot of his soft spoken words. "I was just 'bout t' head t' the pub for a drink a' two, how's about ya join me? I'll pay!" He raised a good wallet full of marks and shook it around.

There was a short pause before his new companion gave a shrug. "Why not." He came through the broad gate of the fences and closed it behind him and turned back to his stock. "Bye Jess, bye jacque, bye Anne, bye Hanse, I'll be out for a drink, stay safe." Jameson gave a small chuckle at how friendly he was with them, giving a small, humoring wave himself.

On the way there, he discovered one or two things about the man. He was as slow to words as he was slow on his feet. Most questions the doctor asked were met with a nod, a shrug or a simple "No." It didn't give him much to socialize with but he was sure with a few beers in him the man would soften up eventually.

As they entered in, the well-dressed scientist was met with many greedy eyes which dilated in fear when they saw the man with him and quickly darted elsewhere, oblivious to this Junkenstein took a stool at the bar while his friend simply stood there, self-aware of his weight's stool breaking potential.

"Bartender! Two of your finest pints for me and the gentleman to the left!" James called, motioning to the man running the establishment.

The tender looked over the Englishman with concern, he was used to the occasional fancier than usual customer but whomever this was he was a complete lightweight, he rolled his eye and carried out the order anyways, what's another drunk in this tavern to him?

The portly peasant gluttonously downed the whole mug within minutes, it wasn't often he could treat himself this well if at all, it had been a while before he had drank any booze worth more than the shoes he walked in, and last time the booze wasn't even technically is.

"Any particular reason you invited me here?" He asked before licking some foam off the rim of his glass.

Junkenstein paused, a bit tipsy from what was only half of his order this far. "No particular reason, jus' lonely is all. I know I'm quite the looker but not exactly enough friends to be looked at by!" He gave an almost feral cackle at his own attempt at a joke, in place of his acquaintance's own laughter was dim silence.

"Heh... So, what be ya name may I ask?" He said to break the awkwardness, taking a shuddering sip of his pint. How did Germans drink this stuff without dying of liver dysfunction?

The reply was quick yet rough, like the sprint of a horse up a rocky hill. "Marco." He said plainly. "Marco Rutledge." The surname was english like Junkenstein's first but the other was clearly Spanish or Italian in origin, maybe they had at least one thing in common.

"N-noice name, mine's Jameson, Doctor Jameson Junkenstein, but you," he broke his statement with a nonchalant poke to Marco's paunch, "may simply just call me James."

As the night went on, the twiggy tinkerer was heavily intoxicated after finishing his 2nd glass and after the pig herder's 5th, he was only slightly buzzed.

"Got one 'ell of a constitution don't ya pig boy!" Said Junkenstein, nudging his friend before being caught so he didn't fall off his seat. Marco responded with his typical shrug.

"Might I ask why you're dressed like that?" Asked the humble giant, for once spinning a question of his own.

"Ah that's easy im tha royal inventa..." Droned James with the sound of someone who had far too much to drink.

Rutledge's eyes widened. Royal? He wasn't this easily surprised, noble folk had come in for the town's best pint but seldom did anyone straight out of the castle come just for a couple drinks.

"Any other reason why you're here?" He further inquired, doubting he'd get a serious answer with his host in such a state.

The doctor cracked a crooked, twitching smile that had the warmth and pleasantness of a molted crow, "aww nah reason, jus need ta get outta th' castle every now an' again..."

This was almost ridiculous, if he didn't get out of the castle much it was foolish of him to do so in such a poverty stricken part of the kingdom, with cut-purses and highwaymen just waiting to steal his marks. The man grabbed his smaller companion by the shoulders and straightened him up setting him on his feet.

"Go home." He grunted.

"Not without you!" Cackled Junkenstein.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Marco roared softly

"Oh don't play dumb w' me buddy~" croaked the mad scientist, acting on raw emotion and alcohol, "we had a good ol' time, y' talked about your dainty little swines and I talked about me zomnics, we're all buddy-buddy, are we nawt friends now?" At this point he was having a hard time standing on the one foot he had left.

This poor naive, isolated man. He was going to get himself killed on the way back, and it's not like you could call a carriage using some sort of magical service, the pig farmer hated to admit it but this odd, vermin-like man had grown on him. He was a lovely fellow if not a bit wild and erratic, but he was strangely adorable in his own ugly way.

"Very well." Rutledge said through grated teeth. He hoisted the beanpole across his shoulder and began walking out.

"Hoohooh!" That was jame's only verbal response to being thrown over the body of his large drinking buddy. As they passed his small farm once again, Marco waved again to the pigs, which he felt obligated to echo, the next few minutes were a blur for him until for an undetermined period of time, he was blacked out and asleep.

Around two thirds of the way, the scrawny scientist awoke. When this was realized Rutledge sighed, "sleep well doctor?"

The response was indicative of still some slight drunkenness in the man's system, "like a baby, thanks f' askin' mate, also, please call me James, what are you th' cleanin' lady?"

With another sigh, he accepted the orders. "Alright then, 'James' next time keep it to a small glass, lightweight." Sassed Marco grizzly. He was hoping he would never have to run into this kind of problem again in the future but if this man stuck on him enough it was hopeless.

For the remainder of the trip, the two made uneasy small talk, occasionally, Rutledge would ask if he could put James down in which he was always replied to with a prompt refusal, this went on for some time until he managed to shake him off of himself and made the doctor hobble on his peg leg the rest of the way.

"How'd ye lose the arm n leg anyways?" Asked Marco, already thinking of more ways this scraggly inventor could get himself hurt and killed.

James shrugged, "long story short, theres a market for that new 'gun powder' stuff but it's hell to work with."

Did this guy invent or try to kill himself for a living?

After finally getting to Alderbrunn castle, Marco simply turned around and began walking back home, before he could get out of his sobered up escort's earshot, he was given a plea like no other.

"Hey! Hey. Marco, how's about this, you can live over here with me! Betta than livin in that pig's pe- err, dirty ol peasant house of yours. You can even bring y' hogs n everything! It'll be great! What ya say, pal?" He held out his stainless steel hand toward Marco expectantly.

This was a big and unheard of deal. He wasn't one to react well to change but this would give him benefits he had yet to have the luxury of in his whole life, his cool was kept but there was a strong delay in any response before he finally gingerly clasped to mechanical arm and gave a firm shake. "Deal" he muttered quietly, "I'll go get the pigs, pack my things. 'Tis going to be hard to sell the house but seems worth the trouble."

The two would go on to be progressively closer to eachother for years to come, their bond growing but unfortunately, Rutledge's health dwindling. He suffered from a disease of the throat that seemed much more minor when the two had met, at some point he had become bed ridden. Junkenstein ordered for a window to be built into his bedroom wall so he could see his pigs and for them to get tended to with as much importance as the king himself if possible. As he drifted farther from life, Jamison grew more furious and erratic, desperately schooling in fields of medicine and hiring the best physicians in the land but he would finally have to pass.

The rage of under appreciation from the royal court was not the only anger to fuel his creation, but the incompetence the world had to take his drinking buddy, his best friend, life time companion, from his grasp. He didn't care if he had to sacrifice even his own soul to bring him back.


End file.
